Tag Archives: The Lost Pissarro

Six Sentence Sunday, 25 September 2011 (The Lost Pissarro)

They went to the Metropolitan and then they bought deli food and sat outdoors at Rockefeller Center. Florence browsed the Japanese bookstore and exclaimed over the cover designs and took notes on elegances she might like to use on her … Continue reading

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Six Sentence Sunday, 18 September 2011 (The Lost Pissarro)

She had pulled out the stops, every last one of them: no rules, followed her instinct, taken every last bit of technique she’d ever learned and thrown it in rage at the pretty-pretty stuff that everyone wanted. Nuclear test shots … Continue reading

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Six Sentence Sunday, 11 September 2011 (The Lost Pissarro)

She painted. Outside, the sun crossed the sky. Under the unchanging light, she painted and fought the difficulties. The impressionist method meant doing it all at once: light and dark, hue and chroma all balanced at once. Not like the … Continue reading

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Six Sentence Sunday, 4 September 2011 (The Lost Pissarro)

The herd-mothers approached as well, and circled around her. She ought to have been frightened (said the city girl in her head) but wasn’t, for all that those deadly horns were flourishing around her, held aloft like lances on festival … Continue reading

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Six Sentence Sunday, 28 August 2011 (The Lost Pissarro)

She shook her head, to clear the dream: she’d slipped, momentarily, into the person of a raven soaring over a line of knights on horseback. Clearly not her real self. The unicorn foal not twenty paces away shook its head … Continue reading

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Six Sentence Sunday, 21 August 2011 (The Lost Pissarro)

The world had shifted around them, and Angie Stavros took a sort of grim satisfaction in it, that now most of the world felt as dislocated as she did. Welcome to my world, she thought as she caught a glimpse … Continue reading

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